


Sonata in Blue

by secondsflat



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-21
Updated: 2003-03-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4407548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondsflat/pseuds/secondsflat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by runningscared. It was always said that Elladan and Elrohir were so close that they must have chosen alike when considering their (im)mortality. But what choice did they make? (canon, NO SLASH)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude: Dolce

_So many memories had been seen by his eyes, so many Ages. They showed through the layers and tones of the depths of his soul, visible only by the onslaught of silence and his thoughts. There was an eternal sadness about him, but then there always had been with the Firstborn: beneath their fair exteriors and aloof demeanors, no Elf was immune to a certain amount of inevitable misery. Yet however much grief he must endure, he carried on, for someone very dear to him had long ago said that without grief, he would not know happiness. But that person was long since gone, passed away, and in his place was naught but a fond remembrance._  
  
Slowly, and with a smile, he tipped his weary head to the early morning sky. It was pink-edged with the coming of day; as he reached out a hand, he could almost feel its blessed radiance spread throughout his fatigued body to warm every one of his fingertips. He savored every newborn sunbeam, every careless cloud, for he knew this morning would be his last. And here, at the end of all things, he was content at least for all his bittersweet memories…


	2. First Movement: Fugue in C

Elrohir paced wildly behind his brother, and though he could not see his twin, Elladan could sense the anger seething from him. Elrohir had always been the slightly more brash of the two, occasionally preferring action to practicality; though they were identical in appearance, the twins’ personalities could, at times, be as Night and Day. At some point, however, Day must meet Night and Night must meet Day, and as such was the brothers’ relationship: although strong and self-sufficient, each twin was only half of a more complete being. When one was impatient, the other was practical. When one erred, the other corrected. When one was at a loss, the other became a lantern in the dark. Now was no exception; although Elladan wished Elrohir would put aside his anger, he knew in his heart that his brother’s fury was merely masking his concern.  
  
Elrohir let escape a frustrated growl, and Elladan stiffened slightly at the sound but remained as he had been when Elrohir had joined him on the balcony not long before: Imladris below him held his undivided attention, caring not for an argument that had occurred so many times in the past. The gentle descent of a waterfall to his left seemed oddly out-of-place in the rigid silence; almost Elladan lost himself its tranquil melody of promise and rebirth, and suddenly he felt an immense longing for the Sea; for all that he could so easily have if he desired… Ere his mind strayed too far, Elrohir’s heated words shattered the illusion.  
  
“How much longer do you seek to tarry, Elladan?” Though he had stopped pacing, Elrohir’s voice dripped sarcasm, as it was wont to do when he became frustrated and could no longer control his cynical side. “I would know so that I might perhaps prepare for the eventual crumbling of the Misty Mountains.”  
  
Elladan, gripping the banister of the balcony until his knuckles turned white, managed to keep his irritation in check. “By the Valar, Elrohir,  _do not_  argue with me.” His jaw was clenched tightly, and the words were slightly muffled as a result.  
  
“What would you have me do, Elladan? You  _knew_  this day would come! You cannot defy fate, and it is folly to try!” With every word spoken, Elrohir’s anger and frustration escalated, fleeing his mind and penetrating Elladan’s heart. It was not the first time his brother had begged to consider their fate, whether they should pass to Valinor or remain mortal in Arda. In one movement, Elladan turned to face his brother, drawing himself up to his full stature in response to Elrohir’s threatening stance.  
  
“Fate is a fickle mistress, Elrohir, or so the Wise have said. I daresay you are not counted among them. Know you for certain that I am defying her?” Adopting his brother’s sarcasm in an ironic twist, Elladan crossed his arms and awaited Elrohir’s response.  
  
“Have not the  _Wise_  departed for Valinor?” Elrohir’s impassive features betrayed none of the smugness he felt at that response, but he had trapped his twin in wordplay and no other thought was foremost in his mind.  
  
“You seek to quarrel, yet you understand naught of what you speak!” Elladan spat, and, not wishing for further disagreement with his brother, turned and entered The Last Homely House. His own quarters were not far off, and he proceeded to walk crossly down the corridor even as Elrohir hurried after him.   
  
“Don’t I? Nearly all of our people left for Valinor years ago. Do not delude yourself with visions of the past that will never again be! Cannot you  _see_?” Elrohir cast his arms out for emphasis and his thunderous voice echoed in the empty halls of The Last Homely House all around them. “Imladris is naught but a shell that has been tainted by time and is bereft of all life save those lingering to entertain false hope! To tarry in Arda is  _folly_.” Elrohir paused for breath, his grey eyes flashing with rage. “Tell me, Elladan, would you have us stay to see the death of Estel? Would you have us stay to see the death of our sister? Would you have us stay and never again see our  _father_ and  _mother_?”  
  
Elladan abruptly stopped walking and cringed noticeably at the mention of Celebrían, and almost Elrohir regretted bringing up the name of their mother: for a fleeting moment, concern for his twin rivaled his fury, and he began reaching out a comforting hand to Elladan’s shoulder before remembering his reason for anger. Elladan still harbored an immense guilt over his mother’s decision in passing to the Undying Lands, as had Elrohir for a long while, but Elrohir had eventually accepted Celebrían’s choice after his initial heartache. Elladan, as the slightly more sensitive twin, could not help but wonder if he could have prevented his mother’s torment at the hands of the Orcs and thus prolong her stay in Middle-earth. Elladan closed his eyes, eager for a brief respite from the bout of grief that now plagued him, and his hands clenched tightly at his sides. Gathering what strength and patience he could, he turned around to face his brother again: his voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and, though Elladan’s features remained impassive, Elrohir sensed he had pushed his twin too far. “If you have a point,  _Elrohir_ , I suggest you come to it; if not, stay your tongue. I am wearied by your senselessness.”  
  
In the moments that passed, the twins said naught but simply stared, daring the other to be the first to act. Elrohir’s breath, coming in a quiet snarl, was the only sound to be heard until finally he whispered harshly. “You would stay and see the demise of all that you have ever loved.  _I_  do not understand? Nay, Elladan. It is  _you_  who are confused.” The youngest son of Elrond spun on his heel and stormed down the hall, leaving Elladan alone in the empty corridor.  
  
Feeling defeated, Elladan let fall his angry façade and sighed wearily. With naught left but his thoughts for company, he turned and retreated to his chambers.


	3. Second Movement: Sunlit Rhapsody

The sound of his footfalls treading heavily across the worn floors scarred the usually serene atmosphere of Imladris that Elrohir had come to savor. Though the Firstborn were known to walk lightly, his frustrated steps scraped and grated every grain and fibre in the wooden boards and created a hurtful disharmony to his sensitive ears. He heeded it not; rather, his mind was on other matters and, though displeasing, the din was the least of his worries.  
  
In truth, Elrohir was more desperate and frightened than livid. He could not let his twin succumb to Man’s Doom; why could not Elladan see? Should he choose mortality over immortality, Estel and Arwen would be lost to him; Elrond and Celebrían would be lost to him; Arda, all that he loved and cherished so deeply, would be lost to him. And not least of all, Elrohir would be lost, but not just to Elladan: if Elladan became mortal, he would perish. Elrohir did not wish to lose a part of himself.  
  
Though they had considered the subject of their most recent quarrel quite seriously before, never before had any disagreement with his brother ended as such. On most occasions, it took nearly naught for one to see through the eyes of the other. In fact, it was not unusual for one to share the other’s unspoken thoughts, knowing fully that it was what his brother had in his own mind. Occasionally, the views of Elladan would differ from Elrohir’s own, but the quarrels between them that resulted were petty and merely for the sake of witty banter. Little enthusiasm was held in either argument save, of course, for the mirth of opposing the brother whose views he had so often shared.  
  
So consumed in thought was he that if Elrohir were to continue thinking instead of pausing when he did, he might not have noticed the door to his right, regardless of his keen vision. As it was, the door was not at all unusual save for its state: it had been long since this door had allowed entrance to the room beyond, yet as Elrohir stopped to study it, he saw that it was separated from its frame and stood partly open. A lone sunbeam shone through the crack and landed at Elrohir’s feet; he looked down through the tender glow and saw the dust floating idly in its warmth, saw the worn floorboards welcome the sliver of light as if greeting a lost friend. The sunlight felt soothing and healed his feet momentarily of their heavy steps.  
  
Unbeknownst to himself until this very moment, he had unconsciously selected this particular passage to his room, unaware that it would lead him to this door. How the door had come to be unlocked, Elrohir would never know. Long had it been since he had beheld Celebrían’s chambers, though from what he could see, it had changed little in his absence. Occasionally, he knew, his father had come here for quiet reflection, but for so long the entrance to the room had remained closed; it seemed painful memories were easier dealt with that way.   
  
Momentarily forgetting his anger, Elrohir stopped to consider this room and the one who had long ago lived in it. He traced the wooden door that cared for it, ran his smooth fingers over a few rough and jagged cracks as if willing them to heal, but the crevices were too deep and too empty and could not comply with the fingers’ silent plea. Memory was in this grain; it was in everything in and around this room. Elrohir idly wondered why it was that different Races saw only perfection and beauty when considering his home: if one regarded it closely, if one took the time to study the worn floors, the chipped pillars, the cracked wooden doors, one would see that it, too, had been unable to resist time and all its harsh conditions completely. It was in no way unkempt, but it had flaws and imperfections just as any other home might. An intense desire and curiosity to see the room before him gradually overwhelmed Elrohir; slowly, as if expecting a hindrance, he pushed the door open and took a cautious step inside.  
  
Immediately a sea of memories flooded him and he closed his eyes to steady his staggering feet. Visions of long ago passed before his eyelids as clear as starlight, and the sunbeams streaming from the open balcony tasted sweet and heavy upon his lips. He had forgotten the smell of Celebrían’s garden below these chambers, forgotten the sound of the waterfall just outside. Often had his senses been delighted here as a mere child, and often had he marveled at the way the sunlight had felt in this room; so untainted, so new. It felt this way even now.  
  
Images danced in his thoughts in a colourful blur, soothing and yet agitating, too loud and yet too soft. He let them continue hastily on their way, reluctant to stop them and yet wishing for a reprise. At length he grasped just one and held on tightly, and found himself glancing into the past, into a night he had forgotten until now. It had been Celebrían’s last night in Arda, in Imladris… in her love’s arms. The memory stirring him now was of the unspoken conversation that took place that night, one that he was not supposed to be present for. The moonless sky and thick shadows had concealed him well that evening.  
  
He recalled Elrond and Celebrían standing speechless in this room, each too afraid to break the inky threads of silence. He had held her tightly while the wind changed the thick curtains into billowing apparitions, cold and flowing, a contrast to his warm strength and silence. Elrohir watched the exchange from his place in the shadows, and knew that cold of the starless night could not smother the warmth in the hearts of the pair before him, the couple that seemed so separate from himself, somehow, as if he had never known them and was simply watching strangers. Elrond had understood then the concept that Elrohir had only just begun to grasp: Elrond understood his love’s crucial need to pass to Valinor, and would not prevent her from leaving out of his own selfishness. It was because he loved her that he could bear to watch her leave.  
  
With a quiet sigh, Elrohir broke of the reverie and slowly sank to the bed, drained from the memory. He felt somewhat vulnerable now, curled up into himself. Vivid recollections like this often uncovered him to his feelings beyond hasty initial reactions, and now was no exception. Elrohir reached into himself, into the deepest opening of his heart, begging to know what he should be feeling. He searched it thoroughly, perhaps for something to verify his anger towards his brother. Instead, he found naught but a bottomless well of growing acceptance. It was not a feeling of realization that he had found, as one might expect, for he supposed he had known all along that he and his brothers’ fates had been sealed and only presently could acknowledge it. The feeling now in his heart had not been something he was eager to share before this moment, not even with himself, but something in the way Celebrían’s room smelled, something in the way her gardens looked so lovely beneath the cloudless sky stirred his very soul.   
  
Slowly, reluctantly, he rose from the bed and left, closing the door on the room, once again sealing in its memories. For a few moments’ time, Elrohir let his head rest against the aged wood. Then gradually he left his mother’s chambers and returned to his own, his footfalls heavy with silent contemplation. He knew now what must be done. Doubtless his brother would not be willing to have his company at the present; Elrohir would have to hold his thoughts until the evening. There would be much to say.


	4. Third Movement: Nachtmusik and a Cadence

Nights in Imladris were cold, yet this did not trouble Elladan overmuch. Had he been of a race affected by the chill air, he would not have been able to stay upon the balcony as long as he had; as it was, the coming of  _Rhîw_  upon Imladris could be felt strongly. After Elrohir had left him in a cloud of furious words, Elladan had retired to his quarters, seeking rest and respite. Sleep had escaped his overactive mind this night, however, and thus his retirement to the balcony.   
  
Though they were exceptionally close, Elladan feared his brother would never understand how torn in two he was: Arda was so very dear to him, and he loved it with his entire being. He was in Arda, and Arda, all its warm mornings and cold nights, the green of its  _Laer_ and the bitter sting of its  _Rhîw_ ; all were inside of him. And yet Elrohir wished for them to leave it all behind, to never to return to the only home they had ever known.   
  
He lifted his face to the wind as it tousled his dark hair and spoke in whispers of a forgotten age, of memories once lived by Elladan in his youth. Though the chill air felt soothing and bore some uncertainties away from his soul, Elladan frowned. Much grief plagued him this night. Sighing and letting down his front if for but a moment, Elladan relaxed his posture and rested his elbows on the railing of the balcony. It felt cold and hard under the moonlight; the marble was unforgiving of Elladan’s troubles, and he supposed only reluctantly did it support him. Many times had Elladan found his father in the same position, staring blankly at the stars but silently taking from them what he could. Thoughts came more clearly to Elrond under Eärendil’s watch. On occasion he would join Elrond in his contemplation by silently approaching and allowing the railing to hold his weight, much as he was now, without word; words were not always needed, as sometimes a presence could be enough. On cold, sleepless nights, Elladan drew from his father’s silent strength, and Elrond did likewise. But now, Elrond was not here with him; not here to provide the unwavering support and guidance that he so desperately longed for.  
  
Once more sighing, Elladan closed his eyes.  
  
“I know not why you return, Elrohir, but if you seek to speak harsh words, I will not tarry here.” Though Elrohir had been exceptionally quiet in advancing, Elladan knew his twin well and sensed his approach even when he had still been in the corridor. He did not turn to meet his brother; rather, he remained leaning upon the marble rail.  
  
Elrohir stepped out of the darkness that had before covered him. He had been content to watch his twin, finding solace in the return of old routines. Since Elrond had sailed to the Undying Lands, Elrohir and his twin had often come to this balcony as one after dark had fallen, content in knowing that the other was, and would always be, nearby. “Peace, my brother.” Elrohir’s voice had lost its hard edge, and in its place was naught but guilt for the knowledge that he had been the cause of Elladan’s dismay. Quietly, he continued. “I do not wish for a confrontation.”   
  
Taken aback for just a moment, Elladan turned a fleeting glance of mild surprise on his twin. Elrohir stepped forward and assumed the same position as his brother, his eyes never straying from Eärendil. Slowly, he began to talk. “Elladan, I would speak with you.” Elladan studied him closely, his brow furrowed in curiosity. Elrohir claimed he did not want a confrontation, yet Elladan could guess what his twin would discuss with him and knew it could end up no other way than in a disagreement. Without word, he urged Elrohir to continue. Elrohir sighed and looked again to Eärendil, drawing from the strength concealed there. His voice was a mere whisper; almost it was lost on the wings of the night’s wind. “While in my quarters, my thoughts brought me back upon all of the Ages of Arda in which we existed. We have not been without our share of pain, Elladan, yet without pain, happiness could not be.” Elladan’s brow furrowed once more; Elrohir’s direction in this conversation was now lost to him.  
  
A silence followed; Elladan spoke not, for it seemed that Elrohir was trying to collect his thoughts. The wind had calmed now, only blowing enough to ruffle the leaves on the trees and caress the twins’ faces. Moonlight shone brightly upon the Last Homely House and showed its grandeur, recalling to mind times long past. At length, when several moments had passed, Elrohir began once more. “I recalled our mother’s passing to Valinor. Of late I have dwelt upon it.” He paused for breath. “I questioned myself more than once for so long after her departure. I knew not how she could leave something she claimed to hold so dearly; Arda was so beloved to her, yet she left it coldly and without a backwards glance. But now I see that I erred then, and I have grown the wiser for it. I believe I understand.” He looked to Elladan, now, and held his gaze for a moment or two. “Her love was the reason she departed, Elladan. She sought peace and respite after her torment, yet I believe she also sought to keep Arda’s innocence and goodness immortal in her heart. She did not want to see more of its demise, its fall, than she had already witnessed. For this I blame her not.”  
  
Elladan broke away from his brother’s gaze and looked down in contemplative silence. The waterfall to his left tumbled over rocks in soothing patterns, the only sound now in the still night. Unexpectedly, Elladan found a hand placed upon his shoulder, and he looked to meet his brother’s eyes.  
  
“You are not alone, Elladan. Always have I stood beside you, not only because you are my brother, but because you are my dearest friend as well. And it is because of this that I cannot ask you to reconsider what I know you have already decided.” It was then that realization hit Elladan, and he knew what his twin had been reluctant to say outright. “You shall remain in Imladris, my brother, but I cannot tarry in Arda. At sunrise, I will depart for the West.”  
  
Elladan’s eyes closed tightly and his breath stopped in his chest; the decision had not been unexpected. Nevertheless, it impacted Elladan almost as a physical blow, softened only by the moonlight and his brother’s hand upon his shoulder. Elrohir’s eyes were on him, he knew; asking for kindness, for understanding… for forgiveness. No movement did Elladan make to meet Elrohir’s gaze, but his hand strayed to brace his brother’s.  
  
Elrohir studied his twin closely, traced with his sight the guilt etched in Elladan’s face, evident even behind closed eyes. “She asked me never to doubt her love for me; for all of us, ere she left.” Elrohir slowly let his hand drop to his side. His voice was so quiet and melodic, now; scarcely could Elladan separate it from the tumbling waterfall that played, worriless and graceful, beneath the moon. “I would ask you to do the same.” Staying only a moment longer, Elrohir turned and entered the shadows of the Last Homely House once more, leaving Elladan in Eärendil’s care.  
  
Elladan looked out over Imladris from his perch on the balcony and discovered that, despite the thickness of the dark, the pale starlight from above him reached the ground. It illuminated even the blackest recesses and shone like jewels in the water. The wind blew once again across Elladan’s face; despite the approach of  _Rhîw_ , the scent of rebirth was in the air, and the remnants of the dying leaves upon the ground whispered a promise of their return. It was something the eldest son of Elrond hadn’t noticed until then.   
  
The night seemed warmer, somehow.  
  
___  
  
 _Laer_ \- The Sindarin name for the season of Summer.  
  
 _Rhîw_ -The Sindarin name for the season of Winter.


End file.
